


Stay Alive

by sabace_maniac



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Blood and Injury, Canon Era, Eventual Happy Ending, Fuck Or Die, Historical Inaccuracy, Hurt Alexander Hamilton, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Multi, Mutual Non-Con, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Outdoor Sex, Power Dynamics, Sex Pollen, Slow Updates, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:43:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28791180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabace_maniac/pseuds/sabace_maniac
Summary: Alexander Hamilton and George Washington are captured by British Commander Peter Smith. They were brought to a British tent where the British threaten them with death lest they put on a show of fucking each other. Then Smith got a little cocky and brought some spice into the game... mutual non-con smut ensues. Even after they escape, the effects still stays with Alexander and George. Eventual Happy ending. I'm really shit at summaries so just look at the tags :)
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/George Washington
Comments: 21
Kudos: 67





	1. Chapter 1

They were on a small hill – Alexander could see dozens, could be hundreds of redcoats surrounding each side. Their men were considerably outnumbered by the British. He cursed, knowing that nothing could be done. Worst of all, the general, his general, was with them. He glanced up at the tall man’s form in the large winter coat and the signature hat, with a symbolic sword hanging at his side. Alexander cursed himself for letting the general come with them on this mission.

George Washington was a man of power, a clear leader, but also the kindest and gentlest general that Alexander ever had – hell, one of the gentlest men that he had dealt with, growing up on a secluded island and coming to New York mocked for his immigrant backgrounds. Washington had overlooked all of that, even his bastard birthright, and given him a position at his side. Alexander naturally looked up to the man. Secretly, sometimes he was a little too lost in the general’s deep voice, the way the man spoke with such determination and faith, and the strong stance he took whenever leading the troops into battle. Even when they lost, the general was always an emblem of hope, and there was always a rallying speech upon his lips. Gods, Alexander wanted to press his own lips to them. But of course, Washington does not harbor any feelings for him, Alexander was sure; the man called him “son”, clearly just regarding him as a kid that he takes pity upon.

All those thoughts flashed to his head as he fought, and glanced over to Washington, happening to see a few particularly nasty British soldiers aiming their pistols right at where the general was standing. Without thinking, he leapt, pushing the general to the ground and felt a sharp pain in his shoulder as the world swam around him and his eyes felt heavy as his head hit a hard spot on the frozen ground.

***

He opened his eyes, finding that his right shoulder stung sharply and his back and head ached. Apparently, he was in a red tent, much fancier than what he was used to. He was sitting on the floor and his wrists bound to a wooden pole on the ground. Suddenly, it all came rushing back to him. Looking around frantically, he saw Washington bound on the other side of the pole, their back both pressing against the pole. The man’s head was drooped downwards and a shadow was on his form. Alexander couldn’t see his face. Suddenly, the worst thought came to him.

“Sir, sir, are you alright?” Desperately he craned his neck, trying to get a better look to see if there was any injury.

Washington’s face lifted and for a fleeting moment Alexander could see what he hoped (wished) was clear relief. Then, impassiveness once more. Always professional.

“No. But you, lieutenant? I saw the shot strike you in your shoulder blade. Are you-”

But before the sentence was finished, three men stepped into the tent. British soldiers, and a commander judging by the uniform, Alexander thought. He saw Washington sit up a little straighter and tried to do the same, but a sharp pain in his shoulder made him wince. 

“General.” The British commander smiled. It looked like the smile of a maniac, thought Alexander.

“Where are my men? What have you done with them?” Washington’s voice sounded firm and… hot _but you mustn’t think that way Alexander _, despite being bound and weaponless on the floor.__

__“Don’t you worry. They are all in good shape. As for you, general, I have special plans. Something very…” the corners of the British commander’s mouth twisted up in an unnatural way, and Alexander felt a chill up his spine. That did not sound good. “Something very special between you and your little lieutenant.”_ _

__“Stop commanding the general.” The statement sounded less confident than he had hoped. Alexander bit his lip, stared up into the British commander’s eyes and tried again: “I highly advise you to release his excellency, or you will face an army out for revenge!”_ _

__The British commander looked at Alexander, and walked close to him, placing a finger on his forehead. Alexander felt like some sort of puppy as he looked up into the towering figure above him. “Ooh, feisty. Don’t worry, the general will be in one piece. Your love will only make…” and here, the commander glanced at his men who laughed in a mocking way, “the… show… better.”_ _

__And with that foreboding statement, dark fabric was placed around their heads and the men forced them up, walking for what seemed like forever. Finally, they stopped, entering another tent. Alexander could hear loud voices, what sounded like drunken men laughing. Suddenly, the covering cloth on his eyes was ripped away and he blinked in the firelight. There were at least a dozen British soldiers – no – commanders in front of him. He glanced to his side, and saw the general too. In front of the men (who sat in rows on the floor), there was an empty ground. Alexander tried to make sense of what he saw. The man who had brought them here was now making an announcement to his co-commanders._ _

__“Dear friends, let us be gathered here tonight to watch George Washington, the mighty leader of the revolution, play a game with his lieutenant, who we have learned is called Alexander Hamilton, only 19 years old!”_ _

__There was a series of cheering with the men. Was this an arena then? Was he and the general supposed to fight until death? Good, then. Hand him a weapon and he will fight them until he died. He can’t give them the satisfaction of winning._ _

__“The game tonight.” And here, the British commander turned to look at them, a glint in his eye “Is called: Fuck or George Washington dies.”_ _


	2. Chapter 2

A silence. Then, jeering and loud laughter from the British commanders. One cried “Good job, Peter!” So that was the name of the commander who took them here. Peter held up his rifle, pointing it directly at the general. Alexander glanced at the general again and their gazes were locked.

Alexander’s heart sped as he considered his options. He was trembling, he knew, but he also knew what he must do. Even if he had never done this before, he had to take the shot of staying alive, and more importantly, of keeping the general alive. How could he ever go on if he let this man die, because he was a coward? He wondered what the general was thinking as their eyes met and their gaze held – the man’s poker face was too good. He had to say something before his fear took him.

“Sir.”

That one word seemed to snap Washington back to reality. The general looked away, his eyes going over Alexander and looking at the British commanders instead. 

“Shoot me.”

Shock rippled through Alexander’s form. Was the general really saying so… for him? Or… the general was disgusted with him so much that he’d rather die instead. But Peter had raised his gun and lifted to aim and disgust or not Alexander couldn’t let his general die-

“Wait!” Alexander turned and held his hands up, towards the faces of the British commanders. “Give us a few minutes of somewhat privacy. I will convince the general.” Peter considered this, and nodded, an unreadable look in his eye. Washington looked unconvinced as Alexander approached him.

“Alexander.” Before he could say anything, Washington was speaking: “I can’t ask you… your honor, as a soldier, I cannot do this to you.” “But, sir,” he had to make his point, had to convince this beautiful man, “you have to do it. You must live on, above anything else. You are the mind a soul of the revolution.” “Alexander-” and Alexander cut him off: “Sir, these men”-whispering in Washington’s ear now-“these men are here to see a show tonight, should they shoot you and not see you fucking me, one of the other men will have me, and then what’s the point of your sacrifice!” And he knew he had succeeded as Washington blanched at the prospect, and even more as Peter, the British commander, laughed delightedly and said “consider that an upgrade of the game!”

So, there they were. He set his jaw and met Washington’s eyes, holding his gaze. Then, Washington nodded, barely detectably, and Alexander felt his breath catch in his throat. Truly, he had not thought this through. What was he supposed to do now? Sweat trickled down his shirt despite it being a freezing winter night. Thankfully (and unfortunately as well), he didn’t have to wait long for a solution. Peter had loaded his rifle and shouted “come on, now, general, make a move or else your pretty little lieutenant will go boom!” and before Alexander could even register the words, Washington had pressed his own lips against Alexanders and the young man couldn’t help but moan at the sensation. How horrid it is of him to enjoy his general’s presence, even under such disgraceful circumstances! Yet he savored every moment of warmth. All too soon, they were pulling apart, and Washington whispered in his ear “I think it would be… more comfortable if you are lying down on the floor, Lieutenant.” Awkwardly, Alexander nodded, detaching himself from Washington’s arms and lying obediently onto the floor. Then, realizing that he still had his full coat and uniform on, he felt a strong wave of self-consciousness as he begun to undo his breeches, all the while looking away from the general, feeling his cheeks flush. He heard the sound of clothes ruffling and knew the general must be undoing his coat as well.

After he undressed, he laid down on the floor of the tent. He could feel the frozen terrain of the earth underneath the thin carpet. The cold was eating through his body – he felt so, so vulnerable without any sort of protection against it. What’s worse, his cock begun to take notice of the stimulating atmosphere and he felt blood pump into the organ. He prayed that the general would not see and come to realize Alexander’s disgusting infatuation with him. 

Alexander looked up then. He saw Washington’s bare form above him, somehow even taller and more dominant now that He lay on his back on the floor, quite literally at Washington’s feet. He watched as Washington undid his underclothes until he was bare too, and involuntarily swallowed as Washington’s half-hard cock came into view. Even not at its full mast, the thing looked positively huge. Gosh, the general was truly impressive in all respects. 

Yet suddenly, fear coursed through him. Is this what it feels like? Usually, he was the one to charge first into battle, to be bold; he had imagined death so many times that it felt more like a memory. He wasn’t someone to be afraid; if he were, he wouldn’t have joined the war. But he has never thought it would land him in something like this. How would the general think of him afterwards… and how much would it hurt? He drove those thoughts away and tried to steel his nerves. Stay alive, he thought, just stay alive. 

Washington seemed to feel his fear. In a swift moment, the general was kneeling with his legs on either side of Alexander, and those broad hands cupped Alexander’s face, slowly moving down his body. So warm, so warm in the coldness of winter. Then, his general’s voice “Shh, Alexander, it’s alright… I won’t hurt you.” So Alexander smiled up, as bravely as he could, into the man’s eyes. Gosh, even at such a time, as he was riled up in fear, he couldn’t help but notice the gentle beauty of the general’s eyes. He could almost imagine (and tried to too) for a moment that they were doing this on a lavish bed instead of the cold night, and that Washington truly cared for him and loved him, his hands on Alexander’s body as though he was handling delicate glass…

And suddenly the fantasy was broken as Washington’s body froze in a second. The look in his general’s eyes turned bewildered, then furious and canine. His hands tightened on Alexander’s hips, hard enough to bruise and Alexander cried out in surprised pain. Struggling to get out of his general’s grip now, Alexander saw Peter Smith holding a syringe behind Washington. 

“You two lovebirds were moving too slow.” Smith’s words sounded like hardened ice. “I want to add some spice to the game.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU FOR COMMENTING im shocked anyone is reading this.
> 
> Also, for the ending of this chapter, I know syringes were not invented until 1844. But for Hamilton's sake lets just say they were :)
> 
> Gon be som (rough) smut next chapter heheheheh I promise.


	3. Chapter 3

The glint in Washington’s eyes visibly darkened. Alexander could swear he saw the general’s gentle, caring look turn to something wilder, more sinister.

As he lay on the ground, Washington stood suddenly above him and swung a drunken punch towards Peter Smith, knocking the British commander to the ground. The other British soldiers raised their battalions at him but Washington picked up the fallen Smith as if he was a ragdoll, and hurled the crumpled man towards his soldiers, knocking them over like bowling pins. Alexander gaped. He knew that the general was the strongest man in the army, but not this strong.

“Sir! Sir, let’s get out of here.” He scrambled to his feet and called to the general, who seemed to be stuck in a haze after throwing the man. They needed to leave before the British recovered and aimed for them.

At Alexander’s words, Washington whirled back onto him, and Alexander swallowed unconsciously – there was something feral about the way that Washington looked at him now. Before he could say another word however, the general’s large hands had picked him up (for a second Alexander thought he too was also going to be thrown) and he was swung over the general’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “Sir, sir what are you- AH!” He had barely begun a protest when Washington started to sprint out of the tent and Alexander had to cling on to the general’s neck in an awkward position for dear life. It must have been in the drug they gave Washington, he thought. The general was definitely not acting his normal self right now. Still, there was something heroic, something romantic about the way that Washington had picked him up and ran through the British camp with Alexander on his shoulders. 

As the lights of the camp and the British pursuit behind them faded, Washington didn’t seem to have tired at all and kept on running at a constant pace – a inhumane pace, now that Alexander thought about it. Where were they headed? He felt a sense of dread as the general ran on in the night.

Finally, at a dry clearing at the bottom of a hill, Washington set them down. Alexander stood as soon as he was able to struggle out of the man’s grasp.

“Sir?” His tone was careful, trying not to startle the man.

“Alexander.” And Washington looked up; Alexander’s breath caught. Something was most definitely wrong. His general looked like he was trying to keep himself from becoming feral but his eyes gave him away – they were a stormy gray. Gone was the composure that Alexander had never seen him lose before. Gone was the gentility and calmness of it all. Gone was recognition and familiarity even though Alexander can see it is George Washington standing in front of him. The man was biting his lip and drawing blood while his shoulders trembled; sweat had already stained the collar of his uniform coat although it was a cold, cold winter night.

“Sir, what’s wrong? Are you in pain?” Alexander reached out and Washington recoiled, taking a sharp step back although his hand was a hot poker. A pang of hurt rang in his chest; his general obviously didn’t want him. Stop those thoughts, he chided himself. Washington’s hurt and its no time to think about your petty worries.

“Alexander. Leave, now.” The words were spat out between gritted teeth.

“No, sir, I can’t leave you here. The British might catch you, and you are injured, somehow.” Despite the earlier failure, Alexander braced himself and reached forward again. “Sir, how can I help you?”

Washington’s eyes clouded over. The young man’s advances were becoming too much for him. He floated, half unconscious, as he heard himself say: “You truly want to help me, son?”

“Don’t call me son” Alexander instinctively said. Then, realizing his disrespect, he said “Sorry, sir. And yes, I do want to help you.”

In a flurry Washington was upon him. With a feral move the general had pinned his arms onto the ground and he felt the air momentarily knocked out of him as his back hit the frozen cold ground. He opened his mouth wanting to protest, and Washington sealed his words with a bruising kiss. Literally, it was bruising; through the shock, Alexander registered sharp pain as Washington’s teeth bit into his lip and the force of the kiss bore bruising his skin.

After what seemed like a century, Washington lifted his lips from Alexander’s. As the boy lied on the floor panting for air, Washington leaned in and whispered in the young man’s ear.

“Good boy. Help your general, then.”

He felt the last of his control break as he again pounced on Alexander.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all sorry for late updating. School is a pain.
> 
> Keep commenting and giving me ideas I promise brutal smut next chapter! thank you all for reading.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Washington fucking rails Alexander. Non-con... but mutual non-con, which is worse than just noncon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's the rough sex smut.
> 
> Warning: Overstimulation, mutual non-con, Alexander has some uhhhhh thoughts of uhhhh suicide or wanting to die but its just very little.

Alexander’s mind had a moment of unusual emptiness as he felt the teeth of his general break skin on his collarbone. Oh shit, he thought, oh shit this is… shit. He had imagined all the scenes with his general to be sweet. To be cradled, to be cared for, gentle kisses and some spirit too, all that jazz. But as he looked towards the man looming above him, he knew that George Washington was not himself at all. And suddenly the height of his general was not something Alexander felt hot anymore; it was frightening, and Alexander trembled, letting out a soft whimper as Washington only sucked harder on the skin, surely leaving a bruise.

“Sir, stop.” His own voice sounded quiet, and he hated that he couldn’t summon anymore strength, but he never knew what it was to be afraid of his general. Washington was one of the few people he could trust with his life, was willing to die for. But now, Alexander couldn’t push one limb off his body even with all his strength. The potion must’ve pumped some sort of stimulus into the general’s blood, he thought.

There was no escape as Washington roughly ripped his uniform, his shirt and his undergarments off of him, throwing the tatters of worn cloths into the grass. The night was darker than ever now, only a faint light as a cloud passed over a barely crescent moon, and Alexander shivered in both fear and from the cold. There was no escape when the general ripped open his own trouser front in a primal fever, and used his large hands to spread open Alexander’s thighs and Alexander struggled again, more fervently than before, only to be held down and choked by the throat. He closed his eyes from the lack of oxygen; perhaps he could die this way, before the general… and he was released. He saw Washington’s figure above him, silhouetted by the light he blocked from Alexander, clearly holding his own cock and jerking with a primal need instead of for any pleasure. Then, a frightening stillness.

Was this how it is supposed to feel, Alexander wondered, thoughts going astray with pain as he felt the general’s full weight suddenly on top of him, pinning him down, and impossibly thick fingers broached his trembling hole. He let out a small scream, and again struggled, trying to maybe, maybe run and then Washington pushed his cock into the tightened ring of muscle of his ass and Alexander really, really screamed. No one was there to hear him, no one was there to see them, and Washington pulled partly out, dragging his cock against the sore entrance and the pain made Alexander suck in a breath once more. Before he could calm himself, Washington pushed his cock in again, and out, and in again, and so begun a methodical ritual of pain. Washington’s hands now held his wrists, and Alexander closed his eyes so that he doesn’t have to look into his general’s face. He tried to tell himself – it wasn’t really Washington, the man was dosed, he does not know what he was doing. He doesn’t truly want to hurt Alexander but oh, did that become so much harder to believe with every excruciating drag of Washington’s cock against his hole. He felt skin break, and a trickle of warm liquid between his legs. So, he was bleeding. Somehow, it didn’t seemed that surprising anymore.

Washington kept at a brutal pace. As he thrusted in, Alexander felt the occasional flare of pleasure and his own cock hardened in the cold and the somewhat stimulation of his prostate but whenever he hoped that he could forget it, the pain would return, an unyielding wave washing over him. His voice grew hoarse from the screaming, and his strength was all but gone from several attempts of breaking from Washington’s grasp. Suddenly, he felt Washington’s pace become more erratic than before – perhaps his general was close to releasing? Alexander hoped, for the first time. Now, the torture would come to an end. 

As Washington sped up his pace, Alexander’s own breath was becoming uneven as he too rode the wave of pleasure from a more constant stimulation, and for a moment then he was in ecstasy as his organism took him by the surprise and he spilled white all over his own stomach. With the pleasure though, his hole instinctively clenched tighter, and as Alexander came down from his high, he felt more vulnerable than ever, as Washington continued to piston into his tightened opening without any slowing. Now, even the thrusts that hit his prostate brought not pleasure, but more pain, overstimulating pain, and Alexander whined and again feebly struggled. It was all, all useless.

Finally, finally, with a gasp from Washington, Alexander felt warm come shot deep into himself and his pride took another blow, feeling humiliated to be used this way like a common whore. But this is when it will all end, he comforted himself, steeling himself to look up at Washington now, hoping that he will see the fog clearing from the man’s eyes. It was over, please let it be over, he plead. Washington’s face was as impassive as ever. A few moments of stillness again.

Then Washington moved and begun to thrust into Alexander again. With horror, Alexander realized that his general’s erection had not flagged by one bit; he was still hard and full of passion. His surprise and the few seconds he had made him unprepared for the harsh thrusts that seemed to be more unyielding than before, and he let out a hoarse scream, lined with pain. 

It was going to be one long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, thank you guys for reading!
> 
> Please tell me what you guys think bout the chapter in the comments. I was playing "Say no to this" on repeat when writing this hahaha hope you guys enjoy it.
> 
> I wrote this chapter in Alexander pov because I wanted to emphasize the hurt he was feeling since rn Washington's just feeling like I GOTTA FUCK SOMETHING so that wudve been uneventful.
> 
> Next chapter will be the morning after in washington's POV... spoilers the general will remember everything and oh boi he will feel absolutely horrible.
> 
> See you again then!


	5. Chapter 5

George Washington woke up to the feeling of a chilly breeze. Beyond chilly – it was freezing, winter wind on his bare skin. His mind spun as he felt himself naked, not in uniform, not in bedclothes and heck, not even in bed. No, he was outside, in wilderness for some reason. He didn’t recognize what was around him. From what he could see, it was a small plain of grass, and as far as his view reached there was just more and more small hills.

He attempted to stand and immediately was aware of two more things.

One, both of his legs suffered severe cramps, as though he had been riding for two days with no end. He was exhausted and it was strange, considering he had just woken up.

Two, there was a warm weight draped on his left leg. Looking over, he saw naked skin. A young man. But it was no stranger; he knew that frail but determined frame, those locks of hair of that unique brown and the unconscious face beneath it. 

His youngest aide-de-camp, Alexander Hamilton. 

And the events of last night flooded, tore into his mind. Images of Alexander screaming for him to stop – he remembered the boy’s voice was shrill and loud at first, then gradually tearing at the seams, turning hoarse and then eventually there was nothing but muffled sobs. The feeling of Alexander’s hands pushing uselessly against his thighs. The horrid pleasure he had taken for himself as he rutted into the heat and intimacy of the young man like a beast. The countless times that he had released himself into the boy – more times than he thought his age would allow – and continued bearing down without a second’s pause.

He was horrid. A demon. He had done something unforgivable and brutal and how, how could he face Alexander now? He couldn’t recall how it had ended. Perhaps whatever poison that had been pumped into him had dissipated. Perhaps his own body had made its exhaustion known. 

Gently but quickly, he removed himself out from under Alexander. He wondered if the boy would ever want to be near him again, but first, he had to check, had to make sure he didn’t make mistakes beyond any amend – although he knows he already have.

He turned Alexander’s sleeping form so that the boy’s face was now towards the sky, his back to the ground, and again was shocked at what ghastly results was displayed upon the boy’s pale skin.

It was a patchwork of purple and blue, darkening to black. The worst was at Alexander’s thighs and hips, where large, eerily fingerprint like markings was as clear as day upon the milky skin. He had grabbed the boy’s buttocks hard and used him like an object in his selfish, monster-like pursuit of passion, in horrid lust. How many times had he finished inside for the boy to be so bruised to this extent? He remembers to have shifted his grip around – or maybe to hold on tighter – every time the boy tried to squirm away after thinking he had finished. 

Washington couldn’t bear it anymore. He scrambled away from his boy. He was the general, and Alexander, his young, bright, dear Alexander had trusted him. He remembered the boy’s words in the redcoats’ tent before the poison was injected. Alexander had trusted him to do the intimate to him, because Washington was a good general, a good mentor. How, how could he have harmed, mutilated his boy this way?

He steeled himself. He had to finish examining his boy for further injuries before Alexander came to consciousness and felt the pain. Before his stubborn colonel refused any help and medicine and closed himself off to Washington forever.

Again, he approached Alexander. He gently spread open Alexander’s thighs. Surprisingly, the boy’s legs fell apart easily. Oh god, he hoped he hadn’t somehow hurt the muscle inside Alexander’s leg, either.

But what he saw in between the bruised thighs was the worst.

Alexander’s hole was puffy and red. Blood, drying at various degrees, from dark rusty brown to freshly red, encircled his entrance, and caked around his lower thighs. The rim of the hole was a ring of loose flesh, red and swollen and torn at places. Out of the hole itself, white semen was dripping out, and with every breath that Alexander took, another drop trembled to slip out of the hole that tried to tighten itself. Streaks of red was mixed within the white substance – a sure sign that Washington had done damage inside as well.

Washington felt was though he was going to wretch his lungs out. He was disgusted at himself, he loathed his actions although he knew they weren’t his own – it was his hands that had lain such injury to the pure, young vibrant man he had come to enjoy the company of, the bright young colonel who deserved something better than being ravaged by a beast such as himself.

He knelt there, watching Alexander breathe. Unsure of what to do. He couldn’t bear to touch Alexander right now, even to lay attention to his wounds, at least not without his boy awake; he was afraid that somehow, god forbid, his unnatural lust would return. His eyes fell upon the torn pieces of fabric strewn about the field. Perhaps he will pick the clothes up first.

He shakily stood. Before he could take steps though, he felt a small tug on his ankle.

He turned and looked into Alexander Hamilton’s pained, afraid, and very much awake eyes.

“Sir?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah guys Im so sorry, but in my defence the work was tagged "Slow updates"... :\ Lots of stuff going on and school's crazy.
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Give me suggestions / comments about what you think might happen in the next! I have a general outline for this story but not anything super solid yet so I am open to anything.
> 
> Until next time!

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys welcome to this fic! Please comment and leave kudos if you have anything you wanna say about the story. Your comments would make me update faster!


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